


Stains

by Katastrophe94



Series: Stories Written in Ink [2]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: 2d Bendy AU, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inky tears, definitely not as fluffy as the last one, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 11:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11103630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katastrophe94/pseuds/Katastrophe94
Summary: Wandering around a hell studio comes with a lot of close calls. This one is just a little closer than others.





	Stains

**Author's Note:**

> So how about some angst? ;)
> 
> I toy with a few ideas I've had about the nature of the ink monsters in this short, and because Bendy more or less has the same origins here . . . well . . . you see where this is going. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

          Henry swung his axe again, the bladed edge cleaving clean through the top half of a searchers head. A tremor ran through the thing’s body as it destabilized, before all at once losing its form and collapsing back into the oily ink it had spawned from. It wasn’t long before another was clambering forward to take its place, clawed hands that had no right to be as sharp as they were slashing at his face.

          Henry backpedaled just in time, ink sloshing up to his thighs as he brought the axe in front of him. A measly defense, all things considered.

          Luckily for him, he had a better one nearby. Henry smirked just as a massive, inky fist slammed into the searcher approaching him, the creature slamming into the wall beside them and bursting into a black stain that reached as high as the ceiling. Above him, Bendy gave a low, menacing growl that made the ink around them tremble, slamming his raised fist back against the ground with a _splash_.

          “Good job, bud,” Henry called to him, hefting his axe again. Bendy’s grin grew just a little, visible eye twinkling. It was good he had the toon watching his back. Already, he could feel the strain in his leg, calf trembling as his recovering injury protested Henry’s prolonged use. A slight pulsing had also begun in the back of his head, perhaps started by exhaustion, perhaps by the continued drubbing of the pipes above his head, their seams close to bursting as ink continuously bubbled around their wheels and knobs.

          “Alright, I think its time we call this a wrap,” he said, glaring at the remaining searchers in the hall.

          Bendy roared in agreement before barreling forward with all the power of a rockslide, crashing into his opponents with a relish that would be frightening if it wasn’t directed at the things trying to kill him.

          Crashes rang out as Bendy tore through the remainder of the monsters, punching and bashing until only the wobbling black river they stood in remained. Bendy huffed once after the ink finally settled, looking back with a pleased expression on his face.

          Leaning on his axe to take some weight off his leg, Henry gave him a thumbs up, “Nice job, Bendy. Really gave ‘em what for, I’ll tell you that.”

          Bendy puffed out his chest in response, grin widening even more and clearly sucking in the praise like a sponge. A very tall, very wide, very _strong_ sponge.

           With a small wince, Henry lifted the axe up and gingerly shifted his weight back on his injured leg, gingerly testing its strength. Hm, it wasn’t as bad as yesterday(?), but it could do for a proper break soon. He’d been pushing it pretty hard as of late . . . probably not the best idea for an injury, especially for a man his age.

          A concerned whine drew his eyes up, to find that Bendy was staring down at him with scrutiny, a worried gleam in his large eye. Even when nothing was around, it seemed the little demon was always taking stock of Henry’s condition.

          Henry gave Bendy a small, comforting smile, “I’m fine, bud. It’s just the leg.”

          Bendy gave low growl in return, then began to reach for Henry with his claws. The animator already knew where this was going, and quickly held up a hand, “It’s alright, Bendy. You don’t need to carry me every time my leg acts up. Sides, you’ve been roughing it in that form for a while now. It might be time you take a break.”

          Bendy growled again, his normally wide grin drooping down in disapproval. 

          Henry pursed his own lips in reply, “No. We both agreed not to push this form any more than we had too,” a little more softly, he added, “I’ll be fine, Bendy. And it’s not like we’re splitting up. Anything goes wrong, you’ll be right here to help.”

          Bendy still looked less than enthused by the idea and grumbled thickly, and Henry swore that sometimes it was like dealing with a particularly obstinate child. But thankfully, the demon acquiesced (albeit begrudgingly), and stuck his large hand into his chest, rooting around for a few moments before pulling it out and shoving it onto Henry’s outstretched hand.

          At once, the ink making up Bendy’s form collapsed, and Henry winced as the oily substance washed up to his waist. Yeah, there was definitely no saving these pants, that was for sure . . .

          “I still don’t like you walkin’ around out there with a bum leg,” Bendy commented once he’d settled onto the page, arms crossed and pouting just a little, foot tapping at a rapid pace against the ink line that served as his floor, “Just sayin’ it out loud.”

          Henry huffed a laugh, “Trust me, _I_ don’t like walking around out here with a bum leg either.”

          Bendy dramatically swung his arms up above his head, “Then let me help!”

         “If we run into more searchers, sure. But I can make it around the next corner on my own, promise,” Henry replied, lips twitching up in amusement. He took a step forward, the black murk around him rippling with his movement. There must be a way to leave this mess and find dry ground again, he was sure. They just had to find it.

          Behind him, the ink bubbled.

          Henry barely had time to register it before something hard and heavy slammed into his back, sending him crashing forward into the ink. His cry ended in a choked, broken gurgle as the black liquid rushed into his mouth, and he nearly retched at the vile taste.

          Floundering, sputtering, and half-blind, Henry tried to get his bearings again, when a large, inhuman hand dug into the scruff of his shirt and wrenched him out of the black river. For a fleeting moment, he felt relief as he was pulled out of the slick, heavy murk he’d been drowning in, gasping and hacking out globules of thick black ink.

          Then the hand slammed him into the wall, Henry’s head cracking against the wood and making him see stars, a metal pipe poking sharply into his spine and he felt the sensation of cold, sharp, _deadly_ talons digging into the nape of his neck.

          As everything spun, Henry could just see the silvery glimmer of a grin shining at him through the dark, the pearlescent whiteness spinning with the world but very real, and very much in front of him.

          _Bendy . . .?_

          The grin widened, and that’s when Henry realized there’s something off with it. Something wrong. Something dark, cruel, _sadistic_ . . .

          And then the world focuses, and he sees a body dripping ink, a bowtie that drooped and oozed, an eyeless horror with only a grin adorning the otherwise featureless mass of its head.

          Henry’s heart _freezes_.

          _The other one_ , he thinks through the ringing in his ears, panic rising in his heart, _the other Bendy!_

          His axe is gone, lost somewhere in the ooze beneath his feet, and he wanted to curse himself for letting go of it. He lashed out with his uninjured leg, aiming to strike it in the chest, but even though his attack connected, its bounced off a hide that felt like rubber beneath his foot. The other Bendy tilted its head as if puzzled, or perhaps even amused by Henry’s hopeless struggle for freedom, and it’s in that action that Henry realized how outmatched he is in this situation, how utterly _helpless_. Its claws sink just a little deeper, and Henry feels pain as the sharp tips prick through his skin, something warmer than the ink beginning to run down his neck. Behind his back, the pipe thrummed loudly, beating like a heartbeat on the verge of bursting.

          Desperately, Henry tried to look into the hallway, searching for any sign of Bendy, _his_ Bendy. He must have gotten knocked into the ink with him, surely he would be able to take on his other form, wouldn’t he?

          The monster’s grin widened as if it knows exactly what he’s looking for. And perhaps it does, for a second later it lifted its opposite hand up and spread its claws wide open, giving Henry a clear view of its palm.

          Henry’s heart clenched with terror when he saw Bendy stuck to the thing’s hand, the paper he frequented trapped within oozing runnels of ink. And with a horrified start, he saw that it was sinking _deeper_ , the ink staining through the white as it slowly absorbed more and more of the page, the monster pulling it inside itself like quicksand.

          “HENRY!!” Bendy’s terrified shout cut through Henry like a knife, the toon struggling inside the ink that was oozing into his page. His head went under once, before popping back up, choking and coughing, but the white spaces that gave him safety were shrinking more and more. He was drowning. He was _drowning-!_

          “BENDY!” he screamed, thrashing wildly now. His heart was pounding, the other Bendy’s claws gripping his neck tightly, _painfully_ , cutting his air away, but he didn’t care! His friend needed him, he had to save him, he _had to save him!_

          “HENRY, HEL- _GLB!_ ” Bendy’s head vanished under the ink once again, and Henry watched in horror as the last of the paper was eaten away, swallowed into the thing’s vile hand.

          No! _NO!_

“You _son of a bitch_ -” Henry ground out through the claws suffocating him, still thrashing, still fighting, even as spots began to swim at the corners of his vision and his punches slowly lost their strength. The pipe behind him trembled more strongly now, and it became the only thing he was aware of other than the hot, hot line of pain wrapped like a burning cord around his throat.

 _Damn it,_ he thought, vision spinning. Was this really how it was going to go? Was this truly the end? It couldn’t be! Damn it, it just _couldn’t!_ But his fists do nothing to deter to the creature that’s pinned him to the wall like a butterfly in a display case, and he can feel his body growing weaker, growing _colder_ , the world fading as darkness threatened to consume him . . .

_I’m sorry . . . Bendy . . ._

          There’s a groan, long and deep and low, the sound metal makes when its put under too much strain. It’s almost distant to him as he is now, a funerary dirge by the dilapidated walls and creaking, rusted pipes. Everything pauses for a heartbeat, a stillness creeping over the hallway even as Henry feels he’s choking his last.

          Then the ceiling exploded.

          Ink erupted from the pipes along the walls and roof, the wood around them cracking as the sheer pressure decimated their rotting frames. It slammed into both him and the other Bendy, and Henry felt the thing’s claws slacken and lose their hold. He’s knocked to the ground too, ink washing over his head for a split second before he begins to float. For a moment, that’s all he does, half-unconscious and only barely aware that the hand killing him had vanished. Then the burn comes, the sheer dire need to _breathe_ overwhelming him. Pure adrenaline kicks in then, the primal desire to survive urging him to kick and splash until his head breaks the surface, gasping as air filled his lungs again. Dimly, he saw that the monster that had stalked Bendy and himself through the halls of the studio was on the ground as well, but it was already shifting, making to rise, making to _kill_ . . .

          There’s another groan, an ominous creak that sets Henry’s nerves alight with dread. He’s not wrong for it, because right after there’s another _crack_ , and suddenly he’s being swept down, sucked to the floor below the one he’s on with the tide of ink he’s riding. His stomach twisted as the near weightless feeling encompassed him, and shouts as he’s left to gravity’s mercy. Luckily for him, the currents swoop at an angle rather than slamming straight through the floor, and his fall as nowhere near as long as some of the ones he’s taken. So when he hits the ground, he’s able to skitter and roll against the wood to a stop without injuring anything further.

          Still, he’s exhausted and sore, but he knows he’s not out of the woods yet. And _Bendy_ . . .

          Something landed next to him with a _thud_ , something hard brushing against his hand, and Henry looked to see the axe he had lost resting at his side. A small flare of desperate hope surged in Henry’s heart, and he grabbed it without a second thought.

          The other Bendy gave a low gurgle, having crashed to the floor below as well. It’s rising, one clawed hand digging into the wall for support as it totters back on its broken, maladjusted legs. Henry’s eyes zero in on the creature’s arm, and through his pain, his fear, his exhaustion, another emotion swells . . . complete and utter _fury_.

          Every sane mind would agree that what he did next was reckless, foolish, completely and utterly stupid . . . but he’s beyond sane thoughts right now. So, hefting his axe and with a roar of rage, he lunges for the thing and brings the axe down right at the juncture of its elbow.

          It cuts clean through, and the arm fell to the floor with a sickening _splat_.

          There’s another roar, of rage or pain Henry isn’t sure, but he isn’t paying much mind to it, scanning instead where the arm fell. The ink comprising it had already melted away, and as soon, _as soon_ as he sees that glimmer of white floating atop of the ink, Henry reaches down, snatches it from the filth, and _bolts_.

          He hears the thing screech, but Henry’s already put some distance between himself and it. The monster had always been slow, and it’s a good thing it is, otherwise his flight would have been pointless. Henry’s limping badly on his own, but he pushed on, the paper clutched tightly to his chest as he hobbled away.

          He flung himself through the first door he finds, seeing a cluttered storage room beyond. Slamming it shut, he hurried over as far to the back as he could go and wedged himself between a row of covered drawing boards and a shelf cabinet stocked with bacon soup, breathing heavily, heart practically in his throat. For a few heart pounding moments, he listens as hard as he can for any sound at all, acutely aware that he was not in the best hiding place. But the silence stretches on, and when his panting dies down and the only thing he hears is the pervasive dripping of the ink, Henry swallows thickly and sinks to the floor.

          Immediately, he holds the paper he’s clutching out to examine the toon it housed, “Bendy?”

          Bendy’s there, thank god, looking unscathed. He’s curled up on the ground in a fetal position, and he’s trembling so much that Henry feels _bad_ at the relief the sight brings, because the movement means the toon’s alive, he’s _alive_ and Henry wasn’t too late and the relief is enough to bring honest to god tears to his eyes.

          But as he continues to examine, it became clear that the damage may be worse than he initially believed. The little demon’s eyes were open, had been since the beginning, but Henry noticed now that Bendy didn’t seem to be _seeing_ anything. Or, seeing something that Henry can’t, something that’s blotted out reality just as surely as the ink that blotted out the page.

          He swallows the worry and prior relief back as best he can, but even so, there’s a slight hitch in his voice that betrays just how rattled he is, “Bendy? Hey buddy, it’s okay. Everything’s fine now. That thing, it’s gone. We’re safe.”

          Bendy doesn’t respond.

          Inside, Henry feels his worry morph into outright fear. He shakes the paper just slightly, enough to lightly jostle the toon within, raising his voice just a little more, “Come on, bud, it’s me. Its _Henry_. Come on, just talk to me, _please_.”

           For a moment, it looks as if Bendy won’t respond again. Until, a tiny flicker of recognition appears in his eyes, and the little devil lifts his head up just slightly, searching, “H- . . . Henry?”

          His voice is so small, so unsure, and it sits all wrong with Henry. But he pushes it all aside in favor of comforting, “Yeah, yeah, it’s me. I’m right here.”

          Bendy lifts his head a little more, and the stupor that had taken hold of him looked to have finally released its grip. But fear soon replaced the absence, and the little toon shot up to his feet, grabbing at every part of his body likes he’s checking to make sure every piece of himself is still there. It’s something Henry had seen before in cartoons proper, when a gag had happened like a bomb going off at the wrong time and the character began to check themselves over in the aftermath. But there’s a franticness to Bendy’s movements that proves that what’s happening here is _not_ comedic.

          “Hey now,” Henry said softly, “It’s over. Everything’s okay-,”

          “It’s NOT okay!!”

          Henry’s startled quiet, eyes widening with surprise. Bendy’s staring at the floor now, hands still clasped around his head, and he’s starts to shake again, “I-I wasn’t . . . e-everythin’ was . . . I _heard_ it, Henry!”

          Henry stared, “Heard it?”

          Bendy nods, face pulled into a tight and panicked grimace, ink running down his face and dripping from his arms as stress takes hold, “What it was thinkin’, w-what it wanted to do, and it was _horrible_ , a-and it was so dark, and I-I couldn’t _breathe_ -!”

          “Whoa, whoa, slow down kiddo,” Henry said urgently, deeply afraid that the toon was on the verge of hyperventilating, “Calm down. Deep breaths, okay? In,” he waited for Bendy to do as he was told, and though its hitched and strained, he manages, “Out.”

          He’s not sure if it helps, because no sooner has Bendy exhaled that he chokes and suddenly, he’s overcome by deep, grief-stricken wails.

          The sound tears at Henry’s heart, and he hates himself for not knowing what to do. There isn’t a physical form to hold, and words don’t seem to be doing it, so, desperately, Henry presses the back of a curled finger to the page, hoping something will make it through.

          And something seems to work, because Henry feels the slightest pressure in return as Bendy latches onto it, sobbing. Henry murmurs to the little demon, comforting as best he can as he waits, letting Bendy cry his fill, hoping that maybe afterward some of the stress he’d been under would lighten.

          Time passes, and soon Bendy’s crying tapers into sniffles. He’s still clearly hurting and out of sorts, but the panic from before seems to have vanished.

          Tentatively, Henry whispers, “Bendy? You doin’ a little better?”

          The toon’s face is half hidden beneath Henry’s finger, but he doesn’t miss the tiny, tiny shake of his head, “I heard it . . .” Bendy looks up at him now, and there’s shame and a trace of horror in his eyes, “B-but . . . I heard it like it was _me_ , Henry. L-like _I_ was the monster! E-everythin’ was so dark, a-and I could feel it everywhere! It was _inside_ me, Henry, and I couldn’t-!”

          He chokes off, a shudder running through his tiny frame, so hard Henry can feel it. But there it is. The crux of the issue, something he knows Bendy has been wrestling with ever since it came to light that the other Bendy existed.  

          He’s afraid that he’s the monster too.

          “That thing isn’t you,” Henry said, trying to allay the little toon’s fears, “You know that, Bendy.”

          “. . . then how come I couldn’t fight it?”

          Henry grit his teeth, eyes narrowing in thought, “I . . . don’t know. But I do know _you_ , Bendy, and I know that you and that _thing_ are polar opposites. It must have messed with your head, and . . . and that was my fault.” He looked away, a sudden flush of shame and self-loathing rising inside him, “I let my guard down. I got cocky, acted like this was some kinda game, and that almost got you killed. Almost got us _both_ killed . . .”

          His mind flashes back to the moment he saw Bendy’s head go under, the terror, the horror, the pain, and he clenches his opposite hand into a fist as his throat constricts, “I’m sorry, Bendy . . .”

          Henry feels a little more pressure against his finger, Bendy squeezing it as much as he can, “It ain’t your fault . . .”

          Henry doesn’t reply, and silence falls around them. It’s then Henry becomes aware of the own hurts in his body; the pain shooting up and down his leg, the ache in his back, the throbbing in his head, . . . and the sheer exhaustion. He hadn’t even realized how heavily he’d been slumping against the wall until he consciously made himself sit up, and even then, his eyes keep drooping. His stomach growls just a little, and he glances and the cans of soup beside him. As much as he’s grown sick of the stuff . . . it must be better than the acrid taste of ink in his mouth.

          But he’s so tired, he’s not sure of he’d even be able to open one right now.

          He glances down at Bendy, and finds that the little demon is battling sleep as well, eyes as half-lidded as they can go, little bubbles occasionally popping by his head when he starts himself awake. Quietly, Henry begins to rummage in his shirt pocket until his fingers brush against something wet and leathery. He pulls it out, flipping open the ink-stained wallet with a finger and peeking inside the lip where he used to store his cash. His shoulders droop a little in relief when he sees its still there and mostly undamaged, and he quickly pulls it out and smooths it open with his hand. The little room he and Bendy had made stared back at him, and outside of a black stain that covered up the top left corner of the page, it’s all intact.

          Slowly, he sets it besides the sheet Bendy made residence it, “Here.”

          Bendy glances at it, and he knows what Henry wants. Thankfully, he doesn’t argue, but Henry has to help him stand on his wobbly legs and guide him to the page properly. But even when he collapses on the bed, not bothering with the covers, he doesn’t relinquish his hold of Henry’s finger.

          Smiling just a little, he runs the tip of his thumb over the toon’s head, again and again, until Bendy relaxes, “Go to sleep, little guy.”

          There’s a slight hum from Bendy, a response that’s lost in the pillow, but his eyes have drooped shut completely by then, and Henry watches as tiny z’s begin to float up from the toon’s body.

          He sighs in relief before glancing back at the paper the toon had been using. He gives it a disgusted once-over, the once clean page now pockmarked with thick black stains, a mark of what it had gone through. With a growl, he crushes it in his hand and throws it as far as he can, watching it hit the opposite wall and land on the other side. He glares at it for a few more moments, then finally settles back against the wall, anger giving way to exhaustion.

          There’s a lot that still needs to be said, he knows. A lot of pieces that need to be picked up and put back together after this, because this attack has left a mark on them in a way none of the ordinary searchers could. A mark that had surely stained them just like how ink can stain everything.

          But later . . . they can worry about it later . . .

          After one last listen to ensure nothing was close to them, and keeping his finger where it lay close to the toon in his care, Henry finally allows his eyes slide shut.

**Author's Note:**

> Hm, I wonder if this'll have consequences in the future.
> 
> Also, we've seen a lot of Henry being saved by Bendy in this au. I kinda wanted to see it the other way round.


End file.
